


THUNDER BOY: Nemehotatse

by Jadenite



Series: Past, Present, Future. [4]
Category: Longmire (TV), Walt Longmire Mysteries - Craig Johnson
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:00:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27127567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadenite/pseuds/Jadenite
Summary: The year was 1725, and these are the fragmented last thoughts of Thunder Boy. He and Standing Bear had been separated by the magic of the white bead, his lover determined to save his childhood friend Spirit Boy. Left behind, Thunder Boy stared into the fire and worried: about what had been, and what would be.Nahaamooz; feeling the loss or absence.Yee Naagloshii; he who walks on all fours.Nemehotaste; I love you.
Relationships: Thunder Boy/Henry Standing Bear
Series: Past, Present, Future. [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1938205
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. Nahaamooz

#  _**Owl Creek, Wyoming: 1725** _

Soaring Hawk and Red Bear were scouting ahead looking for larger game and safeguarding against surprise attacks as they skirted the edge of Crow lands, their luck had been good. It was only a matter of time before it soured. Thunder Boy listened as they shared what news they had acquired on their route. It was not good. Bull Tail and a band of twenty or more were headed in their direction, and word had it he and his recently widowed son, Tall Feather, were spoiling for fighting and for women. A case of small-pox had halved the number of their own tribe; death carried off many of their women and children. They were looking to recoup their numbers by stealing wives and children to be adopted-into their clan from neighboring tribes. This happened from time to time; being nomadic helped avoid the worst of it. But fighting did happen, as did reprisal attacks when provoked. Hawk Woman did not court trouble, preferring to preserve their lives, but if backed into a corner they, and she, would fight. He watched as she talked with the clan elders: Rides Well, Pretty Nose, and Black Coyote. They talked long into the night, nodding and gesturing as they signed to no another, before returning to speech. It was well that they were planning together; they were among the oldest and most respected in their tribe. If there existed a way to avoid the coming trouble, well, they were the ones to find it.

Thunder Boy stared pensively into the fire, wishing now more than ever that Standing Bear were here; beginning to miss the strength of his body and the sharpness of his mind that was always turning. If only this news had come sooner.

_No, no, it would only have made the choice harder on him_ , Thunder Boy thought to himself, rubbing at his face.

This man from somewhere else, this Spirit Boy as his friend called him, would still need him; knowledge of what was to come would have made it impossible for Standing Bear to go perhaps. But it was a guilt he would have worn like a boulder around his neck for the rest of his days. He would not wish that on his friend who already took too much onto his far to human shoulders. Better that his lover was already gone, using the magic of the white bead, and did not know the peril that awaited them. With danger and possible death before him Thunder Boy wished he had spoken one more thing before their parting but sitting in the dark and stewing over what could not be changed was not like him. No, that was Standing Bear’s habit, wasn’t it? 

This was why the man needed someone close to his heart that could steer him from his own dark thoughts. Why he needed someone he trusted, who he would listen to, and take comfort from, or else his damn thoughts would eat him alive. 

Thunder Boy tossed a branch into the fire, watching the green buds blacken devoured by the flickering orange flames, and sighed. He had spent so much time with his lover and dearest friend that his habits were becoming his own; if only in small ways such as this.

In the time before Standing Bear he would never have starred in the fire, sullen, with a thunder cloud raining down on his head as he worried about what could not be changed. But then, he was so used to the well-loved company of Standing Bear that everything from earlier days was all a hazy blur, a lapse of time sternly divided into before and after. _Before_ no longer held any great appeal, it was ignorance and pretending that he did not see Standing Bear and feel a stirring of desire that ran deep. So deep it had taken too long to act -- it had scared him how much he had wanted. Especially _after_ , when he learned how _true_ his friendship was once given and how much _more_ there was to his friend than his handsome face and the perfect curve of his ass. 

_After,_ in the end, was much sweeter to contemplate, if only for remembering the curl of a smile that reached dark eyes that glowed faintly in the moonlight. 

It thrilled him to see, to be the one Standing Bear chose to be seen by. 

It was not a small thing, not to him. 

Thunder Boy knew the transgressions of his youth, words said, things thrown. He remembered a sad but stubborn boy with a chin that never dropped to his chest, insults always born with a quiet pride. 

As a man he knew it for what it was: a child who grew up too fast under the lash of White Star’s sharp tongue and, sometimes, heavy fists. 

What he wouldn't give to go back, to be better sooner. If not for the love he now bore written large across his heart, then for the sake of what was right. 

If he had a white bead like Standing Bear he would tell his younger self to be kinder, to listen more. But he did not, such happenings were reserved for his friend. No matter, it turned out well in the end. His friend did not hold those times against him; when he became brave enough to offer the hand of friendship. 

He was good like that, wise, sometimes beyond his years.

His own father was pleased when he began spending more time with Standing Bear after Hawk Woman had taken the other youth below her wing. He remarked he was a better influence than Brown Badger, who was lazy and loudmouthed. 

“Whatever his father was, his mother is a good and strong woman,” Bear Wolf, his father, said with a fond smile. “You could do worse,” had been his father's first and last words in regards to him and Standing Bear. He admitted later, however, he had known how it would end.

This had amused Thunder Boy endlessly. _He_ had known no such thing and spent a long -- horrible -- time avoiding Standing Bear after his rash act at the river. He had become lost to the moment, pressing naked skin to naked skin, coming embarrassingly quickly. His friend hardly had time to _react_ before it was over. It was a wonder Standing Bear had still _wanted_ him, after that poor showing. But he had, and here he was. Missing the man he loved most, watching the fire burn, and listening to the others talk of the coming trouble. 

Thunder Boy wished Standing Bear had not gone, but that was selfish. His lover could not have remained here in his own time and been the person he had grown to love as he did; with his whole being. The loss of him was keenly felt, a severed limb would bother Thunder Boy less if he had his love at his side. 

_Maybe it is best he is not here -- I would not see him harmed_ , Thunder Boy considered. 

Battles between the tribes, if it came to that, were bloody and unpredictable things. Which was not to say he thought Standing Bear weak -- he knew him to be the opposite and that was not the talk of his over-fond heart but of actions. 

As youths hunting together in the mountain a grizzly had charged at his back, he had been unaware, his friend had not. 

Standing Bear, brave, _stupid_ , Standing Bear ran at the animal with a great war cry, which _did_ get his attention. 

And the bears. 

He did not know who was more alarmed, he or the bear which turned tail and ran off back into the forest. It had no desire to tangle with the crazy Indian with a knife.

“It was all I had, my bow broke,” Standing Bear had said, helping him to his feet.

“We should leave -- it might come back. Never can tell with bears.”

Thunder Boy remembered how he had stared at Standing Bear, awash with gratitude and burning with hot desire. 

“Yes, bears are uncanny that way.”

“Hmm,” Standing Bear had mumbled, already walking away.

Thunder Boy chuckled, remembering how his gaze had lingered on the other youths back for a moment before dropping lower and how, as if sensing his gaze, Standing Bear had shot him a look over his shoulder that clearly said _‘are you coming.’_

He shook free his thought which lingered fondly on the past. 

The present needed his attention, too. All this trouble now has begun several years back. Hawk Woman had been at odds with the Crow chief Bull Tail of the Wolf Clan even since refusing his hand in marriage. Bull Tail had tried to carry Hawk Woman off, but Yellow Cloud, a much younger man at the time, had tracked them down, fought with the warrior and retreated with Hawk Woman. There had been steep hostility ever since. Word was that they would see if they could shake their enemies on the mountain trail. It was said that _Black Canyon_ was the last resort. 

Thunder Boy had no specific thoughts about the place but he knew that Standing Bear would hate to return to that place. He had never liked it, said it was a cold and dark land where even the trees grew twisted and weak-trunked. There were stories that other things lived within the canyon, but no one liked to speak of that much. 

_Wendigo’s, maybe_ , he supposed. 

Sometimes he wondered if there were more things that Standing Bear could do if he allowed himself to be as different as his dual nature allowed: half-human, half-not. 

But Thunder Boy was careful to keep those thoughts far from his lovers keen eyes and quick mind. The subject of his half-blood nature had always been a sore spot, it bruised easily. It might always be so, he suspected. Things learned in youth were not easily shaken off, no matter how wise or brave-hearted the person grew to become as a man. The worst scars his lover wore were carried within, where none might see. 

Except him. Because he was allowed.

Thunder Boy retreated to his tipi for what rest he might find absent the usual warmth and scent of pine and cinnamon that usually accompanied his routine. Standing Bear was always so warm to the touch, it was an tolerated annoyance in summer, but a welcome reprieve from the cold in the winter seasons. He missed it, the heat of his body, though it was not cold beneath his fur blankets. If Standing Bear did not return it would always be so he feared, laying in the dark. Standing Bear would always be missed, his absence felt like a chunk of flesh carved from his own body. 

But what if he returns and cannot find us? And we are still lost to one another even though we walk within the same world once more. 

_No, it would not be so_ , Thunder Boy admonished. 

If they walked the same world they would be reunited, neither of them were faint hearted enough to let a few miles, no matter how many, keep them parted forever. Death was the only thing that could lodge itself between their spirits. The shiver that trailed down his spine had nothing to do with the seasons. 

In the morning they broke camp and they ran their ponies hard, he was deeply relieved that Gray Heart was up for the journey and did not falter beneath him. Not all the ponies were as strong as she, they died along the road to _Black Canyon_ a scattering of carcasses for Standing Bear to follow when he came back to his proper time.

Standing bear would return. 

Thunder Boy never doubted that. He knew not when, but he would and then he would find them at _Black Canyon_. 

Standing Bear was a fine tracker. 

Thunder Boy trusted in that.

_Standing Bear will find us._


	2. Yee Naagloshii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Standing Bear was still absent from Thunder Boy's side and the danger crept ever closer. Thunder Boy reminisced and remembered, the past, the present, and the future he had hoped to share with Standing Bear.

#  _**RattleSnake Mountain: 1725** _

Bull Tail and his war part had given up the chase twenty miles out of _Owl Creek_. Luck had ridden with them that day. Thunder Boy glanced backward at the line of Crow warrior’s stationary across a sandy hilltop and thanked the Creator for his blessings. Several days had passed and still, there was no sign of Standing Bear. This worried him but he did not let it show, keeping up a ready smile for Swift Coyote and Little Fox that fretted endlessly each night, speaking many prayers late into the night that he might be returned to them. 

Red Bear clapped him manfully on the shoulder and distracted him with tales of conquest. He believed none of them, but they distracted his mind, and for that he was thankful. He was not a worrier by nature, but he couldn't ignore the empty place at his side. He had thought he could cope, if the worst happened and Standing Bear remained lost to them, to him. He began to doubt the veracity of such thoughts. It felt wrong, it had been so from the beginning, leaving camp at Owl Creek without his best friend and lover.

It still did.

In private he had explained the whole truth of where Standing Bear had gone to Hawk Woman hoping to smooth the way for his eventual return. She had been understanding and saddened that they could not remain longer. 

She had been so certain Standing Bear would come back, too. 

“And here I thought it was you who would get into trouble!” she had signed, rubbing at her brow. “A Spirit Boy, eh? Only our little Standing Bear would end up with a friend from another time and world, the Creator -- or some other higher being, favors that one, mark my words!” she had chortled, amused, and wearied.

For his part, Thunder Boy had days when he powerfully resented this unknown person from his lover's past and others when he was grateful to them for being what he had not. At the moment he was tugged in the direction of resentment. Why did this person matter so much that Standing Bear was required to risk all to save him? 

Thunder Boy scowled hardened, tonight was a night of resentment. When he had his lover back at his side he would be grateful once more.

Hawk Woman laughed at him, a rough airy cackle as she nudged his side. “What, did you never consider that it was more than luck that allowed your lover such consolation in the times of before?” she asked, arching a bushy gray eyebrow imperiously.

_Ahh, that is there Tall Oak gets that from,_ he noted but wisely said nothing. Instead, he shrugged, because in truth he had never liked to think of the time _before_ Standing Bear. He knew such a time existed, but it only made better after.

“A magic rock that delivered him right to a person who could talk with him and not know fear? A person who could see him as he was and not as those around him feared he might become? Yes, he is favored -- it is good. Do not look so sullen Thunder Boy! He might not have grown up so kind if he had not had at least a few shields against White Star’s rebukes and constant belittling.”

“But he did,” Thunder Boy had argued. “I am not so quick to credit others for his own choices, Standing Bear chose to forgive me the stupidity of my youth -- he did not have to. But he did, and I am glad for it.”

“He did, didn’t he? Eh, who's to say, but it would be wise to remember he had ever been more than he seemed.”

“Once I learned to see properly I knew him for the best and bravest friend I have,” Thunder Boy muttered, feeling as if Hawk Woman were speaking of the fears of old. The same fears that had unfairly branded his friend an outcast.

“Peace, peace, Thunder Boy, I mean no ill towards the man -- he has thrice proved himself to one and all. I only mean that when higher beings begin meddling in the affairs of mortals strange and sometimes unfortunate happening often follow.”

Thunder Boy had flushed his face reddening.

“He will return...won’t he?” he had asked her, like a hopeful child begging for the wisdom of his parents. 

Hawk Woman had patted his shoulder gently, her wrinkled and tired face smoothing into a calm expression of peace. He did not believe it, not deep down, but it brought him comfort all the same.

“All we may do is pray and hope, the rest is up to Standing Bear.”

“Trust in him -- and that he will do all he can to return.”

They had not said anything else, sitting side by side, mired within their own separate and troubling thoughts as they stared into the fire. Thunder Boy laid down for sleep that night, trusting Standing Bear would do his best. And that had always been enough. 

There was a relief and cheer among the Cheyenne that night, for those who were not missing Standing Bear at least, but it did not last. 

Soaring Hawk caught sight of a new threat, white men and Mexicans and they traveled with purpose in great enough numbers to make Hawk Woman concerned. This new enemy came out of nowhere, almost as if directed from afar by someone else. It was a strange thought but Thunder Boy could not shake it once it took hold. Someone was playing a game, and it was their lives that hung in the balance.

_W_ _endigo’s_ or not, it was decided by the elders that they would go to _Black Canyon_. To stay this course would be death, but if they took the dark path the enemy of their enemy might tip the field of battle in their favor.

Wendigo’s had no allies.

They killed without discretion.

It was not a bad plan that Hawk Woman was hatching.

Lure the men that followed them down the mouth of the monsters that lay in wait at the canyon. 

Thunder Boy patted Grey Heart when they had paused for rest, feeding her an apple for her hard work and steady footwork on the rough terrain they traveled at high speeds. Two ponies had broken their legs on the rock and had to be released from their pain. He could abide by the deaths of men seeking his scalp, or those who sought the lives of his loved ones, but the pain of a wounded animal weighed against his heart. As did the taking of their life because they did not have the time to see what else might be done for the animals. He was relieved he had never had to do such a thing; he lacked the stomach to kill the pony that had carried him so far and so well from danger and after swift-footed game without complaints.

As he leaned against her heaving withered he remembered _Black Canyon_ when they had traveled there in childhood; it had not seemed that terrible. 

Perhaps Standing Bear had over-exaggerated? They had both been quite young in those days. 

_Yes, all would be well_ , Thunder Boy thought, grinning to himself as he used the words he had heard often enough from his friend over the years. It was a comfort, using them now, almost as if it were his friend who were speaking them to him, his spirit a faint shadow that was still firmly fastened to his side.

He would never have it any other way. If this Spirit Boy of Standing Bears' did not learn to look after himself better they would have to have words -- _somehow_. He would not easily surrender his friend to this time-traveling business again. Once was more than enough.

Stood at the path leading deeper within _RattleSnake Mountain_ Thunder Boy knew Standing Bear was right to have hated this place as he did. It was dark and cold and when the sun dipped below the horizon fell things could be heard in the winds: malicious whisperings that made the warrior tighten his hold on his knife. He missed his rifle, but he still resolutely missed his lover _more_. 

_Equally, perhaps_ , he admitted now that danger was closing in, nipping at their heels.

What he would not give to have both – Standing Bear _and_ his rifle -- at his side now. The path that stretched ahead was twisted and overgrown. It was hard to see what lay in wait. Lame Bull had fashioned a spear made from a white-ash tree. It’s presence, though necessary, made Thunder Boy uneasy.

It was a weapon for killing _yee naagloshii_ . He had thought _wendigo’s_ to be the only things roaming these canyons. Lame Bull was a strong Medicine Man. He would know if they were followed by an animal that was not truly as it presented itself to the naked eye. And he had a white-ash spear – this was all the better as _yee naagloshii_ could steal the skin and voice of any, be they man or beast, and none else might be able to tell the difference. 

Thunder Boy, for the first time in years, thought about the creature that had begotten Standing Bear. He had known, of course, everyone had, but the distance of years had smoothed over the brutal truth. How the creature that walked on all four sometimes, and on two at others, had slain Running Eagle and taken Swift Coyote with brute force, possessing strength beyond that of a human man. And how it had been walking through the woods naked, but for a massive black wolfs-head worn over the face its pelt draped down its wearers back when it came across Standing Bear’s mother. 

Standing Bear had been born and had worn the brand of his father's cursed blood for 14 years until Hawk Woman decided to make peace with her fears over his friend's double-nature. He had never met one of _those_ creatures, and he did not wish to now. 

He did not fear Standing Bear, which had his trust, but he also knew him to be the _only_ one of his kind. It was one of several reasons why his friend had never even pursued the idea of marrying a pretty girl who could bear him children of his own. His self-doubt ran deep when it came to his father’s blood and nothing he had said ever _\-- fully --_ penetrated his thick skull. He was _good_. He was well-loved. And. He. Was. _Not._ His. Father's. Son.

Though born of a skinwalker he retained his human nature at birth with no sign of possessing any dark power.

His lover was not like the others; he would see it -- someday.

Thunder Boy gripped his knife tighter and prayed that he might be there to see it. 

_Where are you, Standing Bear?_

Thunder Boy glared up at the canopy of trees that blotted out the starlight and sun. He had long since decided he did not like this place, either. Standing Bear was _right_ , as he so often was. Nothing good would come to seeking shelter within this dark forest or the _Black Canyon,_ which loomed heavy and dark, a yawning shadow that stretched across his mind. He thought of the tales that had made entire clans fear a young boy, driven a mother to try drowning her newborn in an icy river, and resisted the urge to shudder. 

_Come back to me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Readers,
> 
> I don't even know what this is, but a plot-bunny bit me and this is the result. 
> 
> Comments, kudos, & queries are welcome!
> 
> Source:
> 
> “American Folklore: California.” Ancestral Findings, 26 Dec. 2018, ancestralfindings. com/american-folklore-california/.


	3. Nemehotaste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thunder Boy faced-off against a creature he had never met in the flesh but had heard tell of in many winter-time stories around the campfire at Hawk Woman’s knee; a _skinwalker_. As blood rained down into the canyon Thunder Boy stumbled across another realization – will he survive the encounter to share what he had discovered with his lover?

#  _**Black Canyon: 1725** _

Luck had abandoned Thunder Boy at the pass to _Black Canyon_. If not sooner. It had crept away slow and quiet-like, a coward fleeing into the dark. That had been when the danger struck catching them unawares; like a pack of starved wolves on an injured calf, everything began falling apart, torn and shredded, until their last hope was that the wendigo’s _would_ come down from the canyon side and prey upon their enemies. As he understood it, the plan had been to merely scare those who pursued them; the mountain paths were rough and unfriendly places. They had all heard the wailing of the creatures of the canyon long before they stepped foot upon the path. 

Thunder Boy shuddered. 

Standing Bear would have been right to fear this place – it was pure evil. He could feel it, now that danger lingered so close at hand. It was as if the air itself smelled different, charged like the plains before a thunderstorm, it was strange to him, it made his skin crawl as though he had walked through vines of ivy. The rockface was darkly colored with sharp jutting peaks that thrust into the night sky, their ragged peaks seeming to pierce the pearl whiteness of the moon, which was only faintly visible; the sun had not completed its descent below the horizon line. 

Hawk Woman’s plan failed. Bull Tail was a distant memory now and of little consequence now that they were faced with this newer threat dogging each step. Hawk Woman had also tried to raise the flag of peace, when evasion proved impossible, hoping to see what their grievance was that caused them to follow them so many miles. It ended badly, as soon as they were within firing range they had taken shots at Hawk Woman who had lingered at the fore with White Star on her left and Soaring Hawk on her right. 

There would be no peace-talks with these men, only blood. Thunder Boy, forced deeper and deeper into the canyon, wished for Standing Bear’s reassuring presence at his side – he missed him for more than the warmth of his body filling his bed on cold nights. He missed the man’s unshakable calm; he felt sure Standing Bear would have thoughts about what they should do. He was good at that, too.

For the first time in many nights, Thunder Boy admitted, if only to himself, that Standing Bear might not return soon enough to help. The time that passed in the present and the past might night be aligned? This might explain the steep distance that lay between them now. Thunder Boy did not bother with pondering what he did not know – it was beyond his logic. He would have to wait until his lover returned. Maybe then he might have some answers. His thoughts turned to the white bead and he privately cursed the moment it came to settle around Standing Bears’ neck. It, and this Spirit Boy, was the cause for all this _unnecessary_ trouble.

If he could go back…

Thunder Boy sighed, giving up his simmering, ever-growing, disdain for this childhood friend. Why did the Higher Powers have to ask _his_ lover to do this thing? Out of all the people in the world, they called him, and so off he sent, doing the right thing because _that_ was the kind of man he was.

And here he was, alone, waiting for wendigo's to come crawling down the canyon walls or their gang of whites and Mexicans to charge in after them. 

He, unlike Standing Bear, could not hear the singing of the magic in his head. It had not mattered once – but that was many days in the past – when he thought Standing Bear would be returned much sooner.

The deeper into the canyons they were pressed the more the monsters within _Black Canyon_ howled, wailed, and screamed, but they did not attack their enemies. 

It was a small mercy that whatever it was that screamed, always remaining outside of eyesight, did not attack. Thunder Boy prepared himself – it felt like it was only a matter of time before that changed. For now, the creatures used fear, making such noise that the children were clinging to their parent’s clothes and the adult faces were drawn tight with deep worry lines. 

Thunder Boy cursed foully, watching as something long and spindly clung to the almost sheer canyon surface, peering down from large black eyes reflected no light. It was man-like but decidedly inhuman in nature with skin like tar, elongated arms that hung unnaturally long with appendages that tapered into sharp eagle-like claws in the place of hands. Its head drew back, revealing an eerily human Adam’s apple, as it screeched at him. 

“Begone!” Thunder Boy snarled, “slither back to your hole snake!” 

“Keep moving, Thunder Boy,” Tall Oak said, walking close to his side, she was as pale as he had ever seen her, and her eyes very wide. 

He wanted to offer comfort but dared not take his attention from the creature that clung to the cliffside, he could hear it when it shifted. Its claws skittering and dragging against the rock as it inched forward and back, over and over. Its eyes glowed with hunger, its sunken belly heaving with each indrawn breath, ribs so prominent that he could count them. 

Tall Oak cleared her throat to get his attention. “Do not let it catch your scent, Thunder Boy, else you’ll never be rid of it.” 

Thunder Boy grunted, but he did not argue. She was right. He too had heard the stories told of wendigo's, sitting cross-legged at Hawk Woman’s feet, and he had no wish to have one hunting him for the rest of his natural life or to bring this monster into their life. He refused to believe that Standing Bear would not return. 

His friend was too stubborn to give up trying; neither time nor distance could keep them parted for long. Thunder Boy was very certain of this. It bolstered his desire to be rid of the Black Canyons and the things which crawled along its sheer walls. After this people would see his lover and be reminded; Standing Bear was not wholly human. 

_A problem for another day_ , Thunder Boy chided himself as he eyed the wendigo. He refused to be cowed and held its gaze – he felt the pull of its stare but brushed it aside like cobwebs and threads. He could _almost_ convince himself that the hardness of Standing Bear’s glower was harder to withstand. It was not even a lie, though he had felt it so rarely. 

Thunder Boy peeled back his lips, snarling one last time at the wendigo. It snarled, too, as it crouched and watched and rocked. An unmoving lump of darkness clinging to rock like an overgrown lizard. There was wisdom in Tall Oak and her advice, which he did not disregard. It was known that once a creature such as that, or a _yee naagloshii_ , caught a man’s scent they never lost it. They could track that person into the new world. If such a place existed. 

“Why do they not attack?” Thunder Boy muttered, having forgotten that the person walking at his right was not who it should have been. 

Tall Oak had no answer for him and remained silent, warily eyeing the canyon walls that began to inch closer until he and Tall Oak were walking uncommonly close, the rough cliffs scraping against their shoulders in places. 

There was a puppet master behind this ploy; he was sure. Someone, or something, that could reason with monsters that knew only hunger. Wendigo’s were vicious, dangerous creatures – not know for their communicative skills or patience. What held them in check?

What could hold a pack of hungry wendigo’s in check?

Thunder Boy ground his teeth, questions, that was all he had and a suspicion. There was only one creature more feared than the wendigo, who at least had once been a man, which might inspire such trepidation. He hated to even consider it – there had been no talk of skinwalkers in many years. For Standing Bear’s sake, because he never forgot his half-blood status, Thunder Boy had been grateful. As he looked around him, listening to the foul things screeching, he began to wonder. What if they had been here all along? 

Hidden within these dark canyon rocks, waiting, and watching. Picking of stragglers, but never enough in number to make people wonder too much, or care to explore what lay beyond. Maybe the Medicine Man Lame Bull with his strong white-ash spear knew something that had not been shared with all. Were there wendigo’s _and_ skinwalkers in this damned place?

He did not know and had no more time to worry.

The time for fighting had arrived. 

The wendigo retreated, as if ordered, and a great cloud of dust rose as the men following them drove their horses into the narrow canyon gorge. There was room for three horses standing shoulder to shoulder at its narrowest point before it opened into a clearing up ahead. With the arrival of the men, the fighting began, and the dirt ran red with the blood of Mexicans, Whites, and Indians. 

Thunder Boy killed sex men, and then six more, but it was not enough. They were outnumbered and not all their warriors carried rifles. Hawk Woman’s plan had failed. He could see it on her face that she knew this, too. 

She whispered something to her girls, and they ran. Thunder Boy hoped they ran extremely fast before his attention was called back into the fighting. The first shot took the life of High Wolf’s father, an aging Cheyenne warrior who stood between a Mexican with rotten teeth and his old and slow to run wife, Turtle Woman. 

High Wolf took a thigh wound but he also slit open the belly of the Mexican who had killed his father. Thunder Boy knew High Wolf would not live long – the wound bled too much and there was no time for wounds to be bound and cared for in the thick of battle. 

A man with a scar grabbed at Swift Coyote who was at his back, her long, curved knife already wet with the blood of men. 

She was busy ducking below the reach of another man, and Scar man caught her by the arm, striking her across the face. 

Before Thunder Boy could intervene, Little Fox screamed clinging to Scar man’s back, her blade jabbing deeply into the flesh beneath his neck -- he bled from the throat and fell down his eyes unseeing when he hit the dirt. 

“Run,” Thunder Boy ordered the two women, quickly scanning the mass of fighting bodies. Women running with children shot in the back and children whose cries fell into sudden silences as they were forced to walk the _Red Road_ before their time.

They were losing this battle. 

“Swift Coyote, take Little Fox and run; you cannot die!” Thunder Boy snapped. 

She was a brave, proud woman Standing Bear’s mother and hesitated to leave his side unprotected. Bear Wolf had been right so long ago, she was a strong woman Standing Bear’s mother. She did not quail easily. 

“Think of your son -- whom you and I both love more than life! Go! Run!” Thunder Boy commanded, raising his voice so that it boomed and echoed through the canyon. Standing Bear should have someone waiting, someone to tell him what happened. 

He would not let Swift Coyote die in her son’s absence. Such a thing would be his ruin – he could not let that come to pass. 

She ran taking Little Fox by the hand so that they would not be easily parted among the crush of bodies. Some were busy with fighting, others with the last act of the body failing them, dying. Chances of escape from this place were slim but he had hope.

He had too. He did not watch them disappear into the distance, there was no time for that, he could only hope that Swift Coyote who once outran a skinwalker could outpace a few feeble white men and their guns. 

“Lover of Standing Bear,” said an Indian he had never seen before, blocking his view of Swift Coyote and Little Fox. 

He said it like it was his name – worse still this stranger he said it like it was an insult. His mouth curled up at the corner in a cunning sneer. There was darkness reflected in his eyes, and Thunder Boy recognized him for _what_ he was by it. 

They slowly began to circle one another and it was as if the rest of the battle faded away – all his attention fixated on the man across from him. This would be his most dangerous opponent on the field of battle.

He was no Medicine Man who could peer into the true spirits of others but he had lived with and lain beside one with such darkness lingering below the surface. This one did not hide nor tame his darkness – he wore it like a badge. It burned from his eyes like hot coals of red. 

“Skinwalker,” Thunder Boy said, his lip curled in disgust. 

“Why do you wear such a face -- do you not fuck one of my kind? _Lover of Standing Bear_?” the man drawled, and even as he spoke his teeth sharpened to points. 

Thunder Boy was not impressed with the parlor trick. Another might have been more alarmed but not him. Thunder Boy had seen the pretty glow of his lover’s eyes beneath the light of a full moon; this was as nothing in comparison. It was far less pleasing to look upon, too. Standing Bear’s eyes had only ever appeared like molten gold, bright as a midnight sun that sparked hot during the throes of passion. 

Thunder Boys' lack of response had startled the skinwalker and it showed, his own mouth curled in a hard smirk that he had foiled its plan to disorientate him. It showed on his face for a second and then he became angry. 

His mouth stretching as a guttural snarl erupted from his belly. “And where is he now, this _Standing Bear_ I have heard so much off? He is not here, is he? I see so many sheep and not a single wolf among you,” the man drawled. 

“Nothing to say, Lover of Standing Bear?” the skinwalker sneered. 

Thunder Boy was not sure how he felt about that – the name his enemy called him by, but he did not hate it. Bear Wolf had been right, he _could_ do worse. 

Thunder Boy kept his composure, though he desperately wanted to attack he held himself in check; a skinwalker was all but un-killable without the proper rituals and items.

All he could hope to do was _survive_. At the very least he would not make it easy to kill him. He could do that much. Sweat beaded on his brow but he never lifted his attention from the skinwalker who had a permanently sneer emblazoned across his face. Being so near to him made Thunder Boy physically sick. His spirit was so warped and twisted inside that it was little more than flimsy strands of air – a gray moth tangled within a web of inky blackness. 

Thunder Bot watched his enemy, all his attention fasted to the skinwalker who had appeared in the middle of the fighting clean of blood as if he had materialized out of thin air to stand before him with his ugly sneer and fire-red eyes, his deeply bronzed shoulders gleaming in the setting sun. It was the only part of him that was not twisted and strange to the eye; the color of his skin that marked him as Indian.

It was as if he had slunk from a shadowed crevice in the canyon to harass Thunder Boy. He certainly looked at him as if he had offended him in some way besides defending his own life. The burn of his eyes felt personal. 

Intimate. 

Try as he might, Thunder Boy could find no memory of this stranger who had hair that was long like a Crow man’s, falling below the shoulder line. And he had heard no tales of Crows that turned to the witchery path of darkness. But no Crow warrior would go into battle with it hanging loose as this one did. 

It was not practical. 

There was something about this Indian – _this skinwalker_ – who reminded him of Standing Bear. It was in the slant of his eyes and the way that he moved that had him thinking of the man. His face was sharper and angled, his nose a straight arrow that cleanly bisected his face, but something around the eyes staring back was startlingly familiar. 

There was nothing about the Indian that could help him decide the clan or tribe he belonged to. 

He did not imagine it mattered, so long as _he_ lived, and his enemy died. It mattered, however, that the stranger had thrown the name of his lover between them like a rib-bone between circling dogs. A piece of meat for two men to scrap over – as if that were all Standing Bear was to this skinwalker. A _thing_ , to be used.

For this alone Thunder Boy felt hate ignite within his heart. 

“Hmm, I can almost see the appeal. Fix the crooked nose, perhaps,” the Crow-like man mused, as they circled one another. He licked his lips and smirked when Thunder Boy half-stumbled backward in his shock.

“Yes, I can see what the mutt likes,” the Crow-like man lazily drawled. 

“What do you see I wonder?" the Crow-like man asked, his head canted to the side in a very doggish manner. “He is not very big, not like you Big Man, and he is not quite pretty like young High Wolf, hmm. What do you see in the little half-blood?”

Thunder Boy gnashed his teeth., rising to the bait even though he knew he should not. “His heart. His courage. His goodness – something you lack, cursed one.”

Contrary to what he expected the skinwalker threw his head back and laughed. “His heart you say? Perhaps I will tear it from his chest to see if it is all that you claim. I do suspect you see with eyes clouded by lust, and not the truth.”

His anger climbing Thunder Boy could hear Standing Bear as if the man were barking in his ear. _‘Control your temper,’_ he would say. And he would be right. There were only two ways to kill a skinwalker, his lover had told him on a particularly dark night, and he possessed neither.

Each with their hackles raised and snarling like campfire dogs. Downwind of him, Thunder Boy gagged at the stench; the other Indian looked pleasing enough to the eyes but he smelled like buffalo meat left to rot and fish abandoned to the sun for too long. 

Yet another thing that separated his love from others; he did not stink of death. He carried the scent of the woods, and the plains before storms, sharp and clean, and cold as early winter rain. 

“You know Standing Bear?” Thunder Boy asked. He dreaded the answer. Had this Crow-like skinwalker met with his lover before he even had a chance to reunite with his family? Was Standing Bear already lying dead somewhere, slain by one of the things that had helped bring him into existence? 

All this ran through Thunder Boy’s mind as he stood across the skinwalker. 

“Not yet, but I _will_ ,” Crow-like man said, and something about the way he said it made Thunder Boy angry, and afraid for Standing Bear. 

It was in the cruel smirk that curled the Crow-like man's lip that Thunder Boy began to realize the truth; the familiar but also foreign slant to the skinwalker eyes. The line of his nose and clean cut of his jaw. He had touched and caressed and gazed upon its likeness enough to know the places where they were the same – and where they were different, too. 

The skinwalker chortled and lunged toward him. He jumped to the side and slashed with his hatchet, scoring a minor graze. It healed before more than a single line of blood appeared. It was not a fight, how could it be, the Crow-like man was more than a man, in the same way, that his lover was _more_ than a man. 

Thunder Boy took the many hits and found his feet again each time growing more desperate to not meet his end. He knew the truth and Standing Bear had to be told. He had to live, to tell it. 

Thunder Boy bled and bled and clawed his way back to his feet, swiping at Crow-like man with his knife-hatchet, catching him at the chest, ripping flesh off the bone. This time he bled deeply, blood splattering to the canyon rock. The skinwalker howled, his jaw stretched unnaturally wide, snake-like, baring far too many teeth. 

“I tire of you,” Crow-like man snarled and with a flick of taloned claws, he was fatally wounded. His flesh was ripped in three lines of fire from chest to hip, the white bone of his ribs showed he had been cleaved so deeply, and he knew it would be a mortal wound. Thunder Boy felt his spirit flee its earthly cage, staring into the sky, which was beginning to darken, shot through with deep red and oranges like blood and fire. 

Through the corner of his eye Thunder Boy, crouched in the dirt clutching at his heavily bleeding wounds, saw Standing Bear. Then, amidst the noise of battle heard the familiar report of his rifle cutting through the din. One shot, one kill, and their enemies began falling, dead before their head hit dirt. Standing Bear had always been the better shot between the two of them, the bastard. 

Thunder Boy’s mouth curled into a bloody smile. He had never stopped believing Standing Bear would find his way home. As more and more of his blood seeped into the canyon he knew that this would be their final parting. There would be no goodbyes. This was okay to Thunder Boy; everything had already been spoken. Standing Bear knew his heart, there was no need for words. 

The Crow-like skinwalker growled, at what he neither knew nor cared. His time of worry was over. 

Thunder Boy saw his love, a dark silhouette standing against an even _darker_ sky, and his eyes fell shut forever. 

_Nemehotatse…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Readers,
> 
> In many ways this is my own fair well to a character that I grew to love far more than I had anticipated. "Nemehotaste" is in fond memory of Thunder Boy, lover of Standing Bear, with the ready smile, loud laughter, and crooked nose. 
> 
> This chapter _does_ tie in with SOTS. 
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> Comments, kudos, & queries are welcome.

**Author's Note:**

> Dear Reader,
> 
> This wasn't planned. It is a purposefully fragmented (short) one-shot that will cover small moments from Owl Creek, Rattle Snake Mountain, and Black Canyon all from Thunder Boy's POV. It makes more sense if a person had been following _"Son of the Skinwalker."_
> 
> I do hope you enjoy.
> 
> Comments, kudos, and queries are most welcome!
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not a language expert in any way!
> 
> Sources:
> 
> Language.
> 
> https://glosbe. com/en/chy/I%20love%20you
> 
> Petter. “English-Cheyenne Dictionary.” HathiTrust, babel.hathitrust. org/cgi/pt?id=mdp. 39015025866867.


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